


In Blood

by madwomanwithabox



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Shippy if you Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:12:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwomanwithabox/pseuds/madwomanwithabox
Summary: Dean's satisfaction was always, always going to come in blood--and there was never going to be enough of it.Seth's POV on the SHIELD reunion...and the inevitable conclusion of their story.





	In Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This stings. But as I promised my first reader, Rebecca, Imma write fix it fic because Reasons(tm). XD
> 
> Blame me if it sucks, this is my first wrasslin' fic and I just have a lot of feelings okay. >.> <.<
> 
> WARNING: very loose allusions to Roman's departure due to his illness.

“Do it right, and do it right now! _HIT ME,_ DAMN IT!”

He spread his arms, because he could still see how Roman fell when the sound of metal on flesh rang out in the middle of the ring. He remembered the way his spine bowed, how slowly he tumbled through space and the boneless rag doll that hit the mat where his brother once stood ( _never a brother, never a friend, you couldn't break blood that way and survive it_ ), and now a _thing_ lay dormant. In that moment just after, when his arms still vibrated with the shock of that chair shot, Roman's shoulders thrown back and the distant buzz in his ears that projected images into the core of his brain—fallen angels, broken wings, bleeding gods, images he saw when Dean looked him in the face and _refused_ to believe what he was looking at.

It was Dean that he'd been dreading, not Roman. Roman would take his revenge in time, he'd bear his hatred in a scattering of words and extract satisfaction in climbing higher than Seth, fighting harder than Seth, being the thing Seth was reaching for when he made his deal with the devil and traded love for pride.

Dean's satisfaction was always, _always_ going to come in blood—and there was never going to be enough of it.

So he welcomed the quickening of his pulse. He flexed his fingers, he relished the speed of it coursing through his veins, because he needed all he could get. No apologies, no restitution...just the blood in his veins, the breaking of bone, the end of his career if they didn't get him off of Seth fast enough.

He wondered, very briefly, if _that_ was redemption: not felling his mentor, but the sudden wave of serenity he felt with Dean's presence battering against his back and the roar of the crowd surrounding him. A botched sunset power bomb he couldn't endure, but he could bear this.

He could give up the ring if he could bleed enough for Dean.

So he waited...and satisfaction came not in blood, but the sound of metal on canvas as he tossed the chair away.  
  


* * *

 

  
He was certain when it was him...and when it wasn't, he was afraid.

When it was _Dean_...he was afraid.

Because the swell of feeling that came when Dean extended his fist was too familiar to be comfortable, it was that piece of himself he tried to kill at Wrestlemania that flourished and fucking _glowed_ under the solid heat of Hunter's hand at his nape and his arm around Seth's shoulders. His mind started spinning with the way this would weave into his accomplishments and accolades, was already plotting the path to their first tag title shot. There was no Shield, and yet he was already planning their ascendancy— _his_ ascendancy, new accomplishments and check marks in the history books that bore the name Seth Rollins.

He realized that he couldn't kill that piece of himself. He'd _never_ kill that snake in the back of his head that was pride and nothing else. It would always have a louder voice than his heart, it would always be at the wheel and in his veins, and next time Dean _would_ bleed him dry. He'd feel the chill in Seth's blood, and he'd know that it was never going to be any other way than this, that Seth couldn't even tell himself the truth.

“I understand why you have a hard time trusting me, because sometimes I can't even trust myself!”

It was the only truth he had—that and the gut check that came when his hand went out each time, and the knife's edge of grief that cut him when he was rejected and brought the blood, blood that turned his vision red and sent him careening forward to club Dean over the head with one fist after another, to give him the blood if he wouldn't just _take_ it.

It was the only way with Dean—it was always, _always_ going to be the blood. Blood pouring from his heart, his nose, his soul, reptilian blood that would betray...

And blood that took over when he made the choice to stick his fist out one last time, and felt the electric shock of skin on skin when the blood called out, and found an answer that set the world aflame.  
  


* * *

 

  
For all the fiery imagery that had attached itself to Seth's gimmick, it was Dean that dragged him to Roman's side, fire and blood and quiet, seething passion.

This time, when the wheels started turning in his head, Seth wasn't planning his path through the history books. The serpent's sinuous coils weren't turning the cogs, they were fueled by a mess of wild flame and dark, steady smoke. Walking into the locker room and seeing Roman doubled over—hunched forward, the inverse of that fallen angel from three years before—it broke the machine and sent parts flying through the air.

Past and present connected, and he couldn't breathe as he flanked Roman on one side, Dean on the other. He couldn't breathe, because he could still feel the shock, could no longer disconnect, felt the anguish of betrayal he'd buried until the moment his brother stood ( _always his brother, always a friend, not even serpents can live without blood_ ) and faced each of them in turn.

Blood called to blood called to blood. There had been words before, thousands—an endless stream. Silence left them all exposed, made certain no lies could hide behind vocabulary and noise. In silence, Seth realized that he'd been wrong.

It was never going to be the blood. Blood could not bring vengeance when it ran through the veins, bound them, shackled one to another to another. Betrayal had a process, but only this had a future.

Seth was broken by the realization that forgiveness was inevitable...and healed by the knowledge that this was what the blood was for, to destroy him when his darkness rose, to cut off the serpent's head so the blood could always call him home.

 

* * *

 

 

“...it's okay...it's okay...”

The world was red and hazy. Seth couldn't see him, but he could feel the dull echo in his hands and his forearms, cold steel and hard canvas—it was all confused and mixed up, past and present converging with such clarity, such perfect synchronicity that it just _was._ Dean held the chair, Seth drove his head into the mat, and this was always how it was going to happen.

There was nothing but blood, both of them bleeding out, none of it enough to fix the hole that walked out of the arena a couple hours before. It was an ocean of blood, if he could just swim close enough to find Dean...to grip his shoulder, press the back of his neck...

Every time he tried, the tide dragged him under. Every time he failed to reach him, all he could do was beg while the waves howled and Dean roared.

It didn't make sense. Not when his head cleared enough to sit up, not when he limped up the ramp and back into the locker room with his tactical vest stinging everywhere it touched him, itching and heavy and no longer fitting like a missing skin.

He didn't understand— _couldn't_ understand.

Somewhere in the casual touches, the laughter, the relief, the _trust_...he'd forgotten that Dean never lifted that chair. He'd never gotten it out of his system, never gotten his satisfaction—never forgiven him.

For Dean, that was always, _always_ going to come in blood—and there was never going to be enough of it.

 


End file.
